


I Want to Tell You

by gandalfthesassy



Series: The Monkees Reader-Inserts [1]
Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Awkward, Confession, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, it's pretty awkward, sort of, the others are your wingmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfthesassy/pseuds/gandalfthesassy
Summary: You overhear an unexpected late-night confession from Davy Jones, which leads to awkwardness but ends with fluff. Rated T for swearing and sensuality. Female reader (sorry to folks who aren't--I'll be coming out with more gender-neutral stuff in the future).





	1. I Could Wait Forever

You hadn’t meant to sleep over, but one look at the night outside told you that you weren’t going home. Not only that, your attempt to call your bassist Roberta ended with her cussing you out for interrupting her beauty sleep and telling you begrudgingly to “get home by tomorrow.” You agreed and hung up.

You imagined for a moment how your drummer and rhythm guitarist (Ethan and Ben) would feel, waking up at--god, was it _really_ 2am?--this early hour. _Roberta probably won’t remember it,_ you thought, _she’ll wake up super chipper tomorrow and not remember until I get back._

From the other room, you could hear a friendly late-night argument between Peter and Mike. You’d already said goodnight to Mick. Now that you thought of it, you hadn’t seen Davy for a few hours. Well, that certainly was odd. Even if you stayed late, he’d always say goodnight--at about 9pm. But you genuinely couldn’t remember that exchange happening that past evening.

You poked your head in on Peter and Mike’s conversation. They’d pushed their twin beds close but not close enough to be one bed.

“...eat my own hat before I admit Paul is the best Beatle.”

“He’s the best looking of them, and you know it, Mike. Without him they’re just regular guys.”

“That’s what I’m saying! He just increases their collective attractiveness, it’s not fair!”

“And guys like us _aren’t_?”

“Aren’t what?”

“Attractive.”

“I didn’t say that. Maybe we should ask (y/n).”

“Oh, hey, guys,” you spluttered a little and waved. “What’s going on?”

“Hey (y/n), you’re a girl. Which Beatle is the best?”

“I’m not in here to settle your debate, I’m looking for somewhere to sleep. It’s awfully late. And don’t suggest I go share a bed with one of the other two. That’s a bad idea, _Peter_ ,” you half-jokingly scolded him.

Peter jokingly put two hands above his heart and scoffed. “You wound me.”

“I think the couch should be free,” Mike offered. “Should be a blanket or two out there as well, from our giant pillow fort.”

“Thanks so much, you two. Goodnight!” You waved goodnight. As soon as you closed the door on your way out, the debate resumed. You rolled your eyes. You did have an answer for which Beatle was the best, but all you could think of right now was plopping onto the couch, sinking into the cushions, letting dreams overtake you as you hummed yourself to sleep…

And the fact that a familiar hand dangled over the side of the couch, from the rest of his body. He didn’t quite snore, but he made funny little snorts every now and then as he breathed in his sleep. You groaned quietly as you noticed how Micky took up that giant couch, and then some. _Well, fuck the couch_ , you told yourself, _I don’t wanna cuddle up, I just wanna sleep._

It never occurred to you that Micky’s bed would be free, perhaps because you kept thinking about Davy--what was _up_ with him? Stumbling around, because it was really wearing you out to have to keep walking around this place (did it always feel this giant?), you cracked the door to Davy’s room and looked inside. You breathed a little easier when you saw him sleeping soundly on his side. But he looked worried while he slept. You blinked yourself out of any further speculation and made your way to the bed. One of the blankets had fallen partially to the ground, and one of the pillows were off to the side, not supporting his head--perfect, you told yourself. Even though it was a queen bed, you weren’t keen on sharing covers.

But the corner of the mostly-free blanket stayed on the bed, trapped beneath one of Davy’s ankles. You made like a secret agent, on a mission to steal a precious jewel, and you started to scoot the blanket away. You must’ve gone a little too fast, because Davy pulled his leg in towards his torso and gave a small groan of surprise. You froze. He didn’t seem to stir further, so you snuck around to the other side of the bed and slipped away the extra pillow. You were just about to leave the room when Davy murmured something in his sleep.

“Don’t go, please.”

It was slurred and soft, undeniably his brain acting through the fog of sleep, but you heard it. You laughed a little at yourself for stopping. _He’s not talking about me, he’s asleep, he doesn’t even know I’m in here._ But part of you wondered who he was talking about. Was it his dad? The two of you had had an in-depth late-night conversation about your relationships with your fathers, and you both found the other to sort of get the whole estrangement thing. But his dad was also depressed after the death of his wife and Davy’s mother, which you sort of understood, so perhaps Davy was dreaming about him. Maybe _that’s_ why he was so worried.

As you turned to face him, you saw that he’d shifted slightly, now clutching the pillow like a child clutches their parent’s hand. Another confirmation of your suspicion, but you were skeptical anyway. It seemed too simple of an explanation. Dreams were weird, and you knew that from several years in child therapy, and having that weird old man tell you how your dreams were your natural process of coming into womanhood.

You didn’t buy that, probably because you were A) smarter than him, and B) the one living in your brain, and you knew yourself better than he could. You could never really know every single thing about Davy, especially not how he lived his life in his body, but you could tell something was up.

Was it another woman?

Well, maybe. That wasn’t an impossibility. On that TV show they were doing about a year ago, Davy fell in love nearly every episode, always with some attractive young woman (though a few had, on occasion, ended up in your bed for one reason or another). You certainly weren’t jealous; it was just a show, and besides, the actresses wouldn’t stick around between takes to hang out with him--they always came to you. Either you were a natural magnet to women or he just wasn’t, or both.

Regardless, maybe it had finally gotten to him, and maybe he really was worried about someone, a woman, leaving him. You knew a few that he cared about, so maybe it was one of them.

What you didn’t expect was what he said next.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he slurred, growing desperate even as he slept, “not from the beginning, but for longer than I can bear, and I wanna know…” He trailed off. You stepped a little closer, trying to hear him better. “That night in London, when you told me your drummer left you, did you...did you want me to be with you? I just wanna be with you, I dunno if you still want me but I can be here, if you want me to.”

Even though he was fast asleep, and no one else could see you, your face heated up. There was no denying it, he was talking about you. Neither of you knew any other women who’d dated their drummers, let alone female musicians who dated within their bands (it took you and Ethan a while to get used to seeing each other after the split).

You definitely remembered that conversation in London, not in full, but you knew what he meant. But no, you hadn’t wanted to date him. Not because he wasn’t attractive (by God, he was), but because at the time the both of you were on very different wavelengths. After all, you were more vulnerable than normal because of the split, and you knew that jumping into another relationship right after that one had failed was the worst idea ever. But you never knew all that.

While you mused on this, Davy rolled over onto his back with a contented sigh. “You make things okay. I sing about you even when we have those songs that are dime-a-dozen, could be about anyone. They always come back to you.” Several moments of silence passed, and his expression faded to the blankness of sleep. His chest rose and fell softly. You blinked your eyes as they blurred with tears. This was not the time to be thinking about this shit. Absolutely not.

You left the room, bumping into the door frame in the process and making a little more noise than normal, and found a spot for yourself on the floor of the main room. You curled up, hoping you’d at least get some sleep. It took what felt like forever, but you drifted to sleep, despite the cool, tough ground.


	2. But If I Seem to Act Unkind...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only you, it's not your mind.

You woke up to someone opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen. You sat up, rubbing your eyes. The sun streamed through the windows on the other side of the room, and as your vision cleared you saw someone’s green hat moving around, as its wearer searched furiously for something.

“Mike?” you called out. He jumped nearly five feet in the air, and you slowly got to your feet. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t find the pancake batter, and we’ve got rehearsal today,” he told you as you came over to help. You tilted your head as if to ask why he needed that for rehearsal. “I said I’d make breakfast for the guys but I slept in a bit.”

“Well, are they even up yet?”

“Yeah, Davy and Micky are talking. Peter’s probably smoking grass outside or something.” You panicked for a moment and froze. “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You look like I said something that’s not good.”

“No, no, I’m good. I-I moved the pancake batter because I didn’t like having it stored on its side. It’s still here in the fridge, different shelf,” you opened the fridge and picked up the batter. “Here we are,” you held it up. “Do you want my help, or do you think you’ve got it?” He paused for a moment, a little caught off-guard.

“If you could grab plates and stuff while I’m making them, that’d be swell,” he requested. You nodded and went to find the plates.

As the pan sizzled, and Mike flipped each pancake, the silence grew. Finally, Mike blurted out, “Do you have a crush on Davy?”

Without thinking, you snapped back, “That’s not your business.”

“He’s been feeling down for the past few months, (y/n). He hasn’t seen you much. Feels pretty bad about it, too.”

“Well then, it _is_ my business. But maybe there’s something else going on with him.”

“I’m not talking about him, I mean you.”

“What about me?”

A few pancakes landed on one of the larger plates, and he started up another big pancake. “First of all, you never help with food prep.”

“I can’t cook for shit, and you know it, Mike.”

“Well, you don’t even help set the table or anything.”

“So now I’m getting a lecture from Mister Cleanliness himself,” you jested.

“I’m just saying, it’s weird.”

“And how did you get from _that_ to, I have a crush on Davy?”

“ _Do_ you?”

“ _Why do you ask_?” He went silent, now with a plate full of pancakes. “Mike, I’m serious, people don’t just _ask_ their friends if they want to date another one of their friends. Unless you wanna be more than friends with me or something.”

“I’m fine for now,” he replied, bringing the pancake plate over to the table. “I’m just saying, if you don’t feel like you can get him on your own, I’d be happy to help you. Micky and Peter could probably help too.”

You found the syrup and brought it over as you reminded him, “If I’ve learned anything from your show, you’re all shitty matchmakers.”

“That was a show, (y/n), I thought you knew the difference.”

“Do _you_?” Mike rolled his eyes. “No, I know, I get what you’re saying. Really, thank you for that, that’s really sweet, but like, I don’t want all that build-up just to find that he doesn’t like me back.”

“(y/n), who else would he date?” 

“He’s an adult, he probably knows a few folks who he’d date.” You looked up from where you were arranging the stuff on the table to see Mike staring skeptically at you. You jumped a little at how close he was. “Jesus, man, you gotta stop doing that. And don’t set me up with anyone. I’m over my ex now, and that’s good, but I know better than to date musicians now.”

“So you’re gonna discount him just because he’s a musician?”

“Mike, for all you know, I could have a crush on anyone of you.”

“More like all of us,” chirped Peter from the doorway. He came up to the table and took his spot, folding his hands patiently. “Looks good! Smells really good. Can I get started?” he looked to Mike eagerly, to which the addressed nodded and excused himself to go get the others.

“I don’t have a crush on all of you, Peter,” you retorted as you sat down.

“Just on Davy,” he threw back immediately. You tried not to react as you grabbed a large pancake and threw it onto your plate. “Don’t you?”

“Why do you care? Why is everyone suddenly interested in my life, just because I’m the only girl in this house? Why do I have to hear all these dumb questions?”

“I mean, we get them too.”

“I meant from all of _you_.”

“All of us?” he looked at you as he ate a bit of his pancake.

“You and Mike, mostly.”

“Well, you wanna know something?”

You stared at him. “You’re gonna tell me anyway, so go for it.”

“Last night, before you came in--”

“You were discussing which Beatle was the best. You’re wrong, by the way, it’s not Paul.”

“No, before then, Mike and I were talking about you and Davy.”

“Oh my god,” you put down your utensils and put your face in your hands in annoyance. “Everyone needs to get off my back.”

“He likes you,” he said simply. You didn’t do anything for a long moment, then you looked at him. He was chewing away, not looking right at you, but definitely waiting for you to say something.

“Okay,” was all you could say without giving him anything that could prove him right.

“And I know the both of you are grown-ups, and you’re all concerned about this and that, and you’re all angsty about love after the shit the two of you have been through. Look, I’m not an expert on love--”

“You can say that again.”

“Let me finish, please.” You leaned back a little and held your hands up in mock defeat. “I’m no expert, but it’s much better to just get those feelings out in the open and deal with the consequences, because at least you’ll know. And you don’t have to like him back. I’m just letting you know, he does like you. Do with that what you will.”

“I already knew,” you confessed. He leaned a little, a silent request for you to keep talking. “Last night. I was looking for somewhere to sleep. Micky was on the couch so I didn’t want to move him, so I go into Davy’s room, and he’s all like bunched up in the covers. He was talking in his sleep about like, “Don’t go,” and “I need you,” and stuff, and I was like, “Whatever, I need to get some rest,” but before I left, he, he mentioned this conversation we had when we were in London. I never told you guys this, but my ex is Ethan, as in my drummer."

“I didn’t know that,” he murmured, still listening intently.

“Yeah, well, I told Davy first. I don’t know why. I guess I just had to tell someone, and he was listening. So we got to talking, and we were talking about love, and I think he was dating a girl at the time or something, but...I don’t know, he just, he said he wanted me, that he’d be there for me. And I really don’t think he meant anyone else.”

“Did he say your name?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do!”

“I’ve already teased out the possibility that he meant someone else, and I tried to sleep last night, but I only got about two hours before Mike woke me up on accident. I kept thinking about it. And he doesn’t know that I heard him. I feel creepy.”

“Not your fault he talks in his sleep.”

“But I should’ve just left, given him privacy. He was talking about me and I didn’t feel like I should’ve been there. And before you ask, yes, he was out cold, he wasn’t like _pretending_ to be asleep. You four have pretend-slept so much I can tell what’s real sleeping.”

“(y/n)?” You panicked, but you controlled yourself enough to turn around and greet Davy.

“Hey, good morning!” you beamed. “Mike made pancakes, have one before they get cold.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. You suddenly felt the stares of Mike, who’d just come out from behind Davy, and Peter. You caved.

“Okay, you two,” you got to your feet, “I’m done with whatever it is you think you’re doing. If you really think something’s wrong with me or Davy, just fucking _ask_ us what’s wrong. The things that the two of us do or say are none of your fuckin’ business.” You breathed, trying to steady yourself. “Honestly, this is like some Beatrice and Benedick shit going on.”

“Bea-who?” Micky chirped up from somewhere else in the room.

“Stop it,” you whipped around to him. “I’m sorry, I’ve been cool with you guys and the needling, and the joking, because that’s how I talk too. But if you haven’t heard by now, getting broken up with by someone who you genuinely loved is _rough_. I think I’m ready for love, from whoever wants to give it to me, and for whom I’ll give it back, but I don’t need you fuckers helping me out. I’m an adult, and I can do this myself.” You gave each of them a look, avoiding Davy’s confused look, and went to throw on your coat. The silence hurt your ears.

“We don’t think you’re not an adult, (y/n),” Micky finally spoke up.

“Well, I’d appreciate you keeping your nose out of my business. If I want your help, or I desperately need it, then you can help me.”

“Maybe you do,” Peter spoke just loud enough for you to hear.

“I do what?”

“Maybe you do desperately need our help.”

“Not right now. I need to take a few minutes, okay? I’m tired, and exhausted, and hungry, and I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks in general. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hang out on the balcony. If you really, really need me, just...be nice, okay? I know you can be. I’d appreciate it.” You avoided all of their stares on you and walked to the balcony, angrily sitting in a chair. Yeah, you were moodier than normal, but you didn’t like talking about love anyway, even with people you trusted--and you did trust the other three, just not with everything.

A few minutes later, you heard their car rev up, but it didn’t fade away. A minute after the car started, you heard and felt someone’s presence behind you. “(y/n), you can nap in my room if you’d like.” You turned to see Davy, who looked almost scared of you. You tried so hard not to gaze at him as you talked.

“Is the couch not good enough for me?”

“Well, if you’d like to take the couch, that’s fine. But my room’s much quieter, so when we come back we don’t disturb you. And we’ll be back in a few hours, so I thought…” He trailed off. “Are you still mad?”

“I’m not mad at all, Davy, just embarrassed. I know you have to go, but when you come back, can we…” Oh god, it hit you what you were going to do when you woke up. “Would you wake me up so we could talk? It’s been a while, and I--”

“Of course!” he agreed eagerly, nodding. His whole body relaxed at hearing that you weren’t feeling completely awful. “I’m awfully sorry you didn’t get any sleep last night! I think one of the others might have some kind of sleep remedy if it starts to become a problem.”

“Well, you know, different place, and I don’t think I’ve actually slept over before. I mean, not without us all sleeping in the same room.”

“Right.” The horn honked.

“Oh my god, you haven’t been gone _that_ long.”

“We are running a little late.” You were about to apologize when he stopped you: “It’s not your fault at all, if the others were prying, you have every right to stand up for yourself. Now, I’ve got to go, but make sure you get some sleep. I’ll come see you when we get back.”

“Alright. Thank you, Davy,” you smiled, hoping you didn’t look too doe-eyed, but he seemed to be giving back the same look and didn’t notice. He bid you goodbye and rushed back to the front door. You dragged your exhausted self to his room and flopped face-first onto his bed.


	3. My Head is Filled With Things to Say

The creak of the door pulled you out of the last few moments of your nap. You stretched your arms out to get them moving again as Davy came in, closing the door behind him. “Hey Davy,” you greeted him groggily.

“Sleep okay?” he checked in. You hated to admit it, but knowing someone cared about you was really nice. You nodded, and your mouth stretched into a yawn. You sat up and grunted as you stretched your back a bit. “I know you just woke up, but would you like to talk?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” he sat down cross-legged on the bed, facing you.

“I wanna say sorry for getting upset earlier. It was just embarrassing for all of us. I made things kind of...not great.”

“It’s alright, love. They were picking on you.”

“Well, no, it’s more than that. I have something I have to tell you.”

“Okay,” he replied quite plainly, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation, giving him away. You glanced away, your hands covering your cheeks.

“Sorry, I feel bad.”

“What for? For having feelings? You’re fine, love.” The sparkle died a little, and you went for it.

“I really like you, Davy. Romantically, I mean. I, I know you’re clean cut and straight-laced, unlike me, and I know as a musician it’s partly for the chicks, and yeah I do that too, but I just, I want to be with you. A little birdie told me you like me too, after all…”

“Would this birdie’s name be Peter?”

“Yeah, it was Peter,” you conceded. “Wait. Did he tell you I liked you?”

“He did tell me. And it’s true! But when I first realized I loved you, I knew it’d be awful to catch you right after Ethan dumped you.” You nodded. “But you’re…you’re okay now, right?”

“I’m better,” you told him. “I’m a musician, I don’t think I’ll ever be totally okay.” He giggled, and you laughed back.

“Well, I do think I want to date you,” he beamed at you. You returned his goofy smile and opened your arms. He scooted over and the two of you held each other for a long moment.

You smiled and asked him quietly: “Davy, may I kiss you?” He pulled back in surprise, and you digressed: “I mean, only if you want to. I don’t want to move too fast--”

“(y/n),” he took your cheek in one hand, and you melted into his touch. “I would _love_ to kiss you.” He was gazing at you with such admiration, your heart soared. You closed the distance between the two of you and kissed him, quickly and chastely. “(y/n),” he whined, “ _please_ , I, I want to really kiss you.” You obliged, pulling him against you with both arms and kissing him, deepening the contact slowly, gently. His arms slid up and rested on either side of your neck. The two of you pressed against each other as much as you could while you kissed, needy but keeping it painfully slow.

For a moment, your eyes drifted open. The three others had somehow snuck in without you noticing. They looked ecstatic but kept holding each other’s exclamations back. Without breaking for a second, you gave them a quick thumbs up and went right back to kissing. You could hear them leave, murmuring in excitement, but Davy didn’t seem to register any of them. He suddenly sighed in contentment, and his eyes fluttered open in surprise. He pulled back for a moment, and you smiled, bumping your nose with his playfully.

“This isn’t a dream, right?” he asked you, drawing his arms down so they were in his lap, and you took both of his hands.

“I hope not,” you replied cheerfully. You gently pinched his arm.

“Ow!” You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them. You glanced at him--he’d been surprised, but his jaw went slack at the tenderness of your touch. “This isn’t a dream.”

“No. It’s real. It’s incredibly real.” You glanced at where you’d pinched him. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” he gave you a brief little kiss. “I had to know.” You kissed him teasingly again, just staying long enough to make him respond, before pulling back. He followed you, but before he could fall on top of you, you swung one leg over and pulled him underneath. Surprised at the motion, his hands flew to your back and he gazed up at you. Your mouth was on his again, but you pulled away for a moment as you thought of something.

“Let me know if I’m crushing you,” you told him. He shook his head as if to say you weren’t and kissed you, resuming your making out. You knew at some point that you’d have to get dinner and see the others, but well, they knew, and maybe they wouldn’t mind. For now, you kept your attention solely on Davy.


End file.
